lovers alone wear sunlight
by Cora Clavia
Summary: She's smiling at him again, arch and sweet and winsome, and he's suddenly swept with a wave of longing so overwhelming that it takes his breath away.


It's a rare sunny day in the Austrian Alps - balmy, the air soft and rich with the scent of pines - when Steve catches a glance of Agent Carter at her desk, her head bent over whatever it is she's reading. She's completely lost to the world, oblivious, her eyes keen as her lips move, and she occasionally jots something down on a notebook beside her.

He blinks, realizing he's been staring quite rudely, and wonders if it would be inopportune to say hello. She looks busy, and he certainly doesn't want to interrupt.

She doesn't look up from her work, and it startles him when she speaks up.

"Are you going to keep watching me, Captain, or do you need something?"

Steve feels remarkably foolish, because the serum might have done a lot, but it's only seemed to amplify his inability to handle himself. He's no smoother; there's just more of him to be awkward.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

"It's quite all right." She finally looks up, her eyes dancing, and he's struck by how easy she makes it look. She's lovely in an effortless way, the kind of feminine grace that's innate, and even out here on the front, surrounded by dirt and trees and unwashed men, Peggy Carter looks as relaxed and at ease as she would anywhere in the world. "To be honest, I'm a bit stuck here. I could rather use a break."

"What are you working on?"

"Communications." She pinches the bridge of her nose, setting down her pencil with a sigh. "Hydra's using a new code in their transmissions. We had only just cracked the last one, and now we've got a whole new system to unravel. It's slow going."

Steve steals a glance at the notebook beside her. It's a jumble of words, half-words, random letters, numbers, lines and arrows. It must mean something to her. Half of it looks like it's in French. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

She smiles at him wryly. "Perhaps you could grab your shield and beat it into submission for me."

"Is that something you try often?"

"I'm starting to think it might be a good option."

Steve glances at his watch. "Well, I'd ask if you wanted to go get some lunch -"

She blinks. "What time is it?"

"About ten after two."

She smiles ruefully. "I'd lost track of time. I hadn't realized it was past noon."

"Really? Because I can order you to eat lunch. I'm pretty sure I can."

"Can you, now?" She arches an eyebrow at him, teasing and charming and so adorable he doesn't even know how to deal with it. He feels stupid around her sometimes, like she's laughing at him but he doesn't mind, and any clever response he might have found is lost before he can put it together. "I'd dearly like to see you try."

Actually, Steve's relatively sure that Peggy Carter would simply laugh at him if he tried to give her any kind of an order, but he thinks she could at least _pretend_ she believes he's got some kind of authority. Over anything.

"Well." She waits expectantly, and he stands up taller. "I could carry you." It's probably true. He could probably overpower her. If she let him.

"You would throw me over your shoulder, kicking and screaming, just to force a sandwich upon me?"

Steve huffs. "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

* * *

He walks her to the mess tent and watches, amazed, as she sweet-talks the cook, who's normally dour and strict about mealtimes, into making her a plate and even spreading a bit of real butter onto the freshest bread Steve's seen yet on the front lines.

The mess tent is abandoned, so rather than hole up and miss the fresh air, Steve suggests they go outside. Peggy watches, her eyes sparkling, as he obligingly carries an entire mess table out into the sun, assuring the cook that he'll return it when they're done.

He's not terribly hungry, but he feels awkward just sitting watching her eat, so he grabs a cup of coffee and sits across from her.

Peggy takes a deep breath. "When did it turn into such a beautiful day?"

"It snuck up on us."

She eats gracefully, too, as if they were sitting in some nice place in London or New York, the kind of place she deserves to go. Her napkin is neatly on her lap, her silverware placed just so, and he doesn't know how, but even the food on her plate looks tidy.

She's the kind of girl - _woman_, he reminds himself, she's a woman - he'd never have had the nerve to talk to before. Peggy Carter is beautiful, clever, charming, with a sense of humor he loves and an accent he could listen to for hours. Steve knows himself; he'd have spent years content to simply bask in her glow, unnoticed.

But now they're - colleagues? - well, friends, he supposes, though he thinks maybe there's a more all-encompassing term that does a better job summing it up.

He'd thought at first that he's the one who's changed, and while that's physically true, he's starting to think maybe it's because Peggy, herself, is the one who's come and turned everything on its head, ever since the first she smiled at him and he'd realized, right then, that she believed he was worth something.

"You're staring again," she comments, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

Much to his chagrin, Steve can feel a blush creeping up his neck, into his face. "Uh - no. Sorry. I wasn't - I mean. I didn't mean to stare at you."

He expects a witty remark, some clever, pithy response, but Peggy surprises him. She's looking at him almost shyly, her cheeks pink, a little smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Oh.

They stick to safe topics as she finishes her food, because Steve's still not the most seasoned of men when it comes to beautiful women and _I would really like to court you properly_ seems a little stilted. _You're very lovely_ is accurate, but doesn't even come close to adequacy. And _I'd like to dance with you someday_ feels at once too direct and too indirect.

He does feel some small measure of comfort in knowing it's probably this confusing for everyone.

* * *

Peggy at least attempts to hide her laughter as he lifts the entire table to set it back down in the mess tent. "I can't help but think this was a bit gratuitous."

"Not at all," he assures her, brushing off the tabletop. "It was vital that you get both food and sunshine. I'm just trying to help."

She leans into the kitchen to thank the cook, and when she turns back to him, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave her.

"Can I walk you back to your office?"

She fixes a keen gaze on him.

"You know, Captain, if I didn't know better, I'd think this might have been a date."

His heart pounds thickly in his chest, but she's smiling at him again, arch and sweet and winsome, and he's suddenly swept with a wave of longing so overwhelming that it takes his breath away.

"If I took you on a date, it'd be nicer than this."

He says it without really meaning to, and freezes for a moment, wondering if that was presumptuous. After all, he's never really -

"We'll have to hold you to that, you know," she tells him. "The Army can't have you making these wild claims without checking their accuracy."

Steve grins.

"The Army's not the one I'm interested in taking out, ma'am."

That brings a definite blush to her cheeks, and though she looks away, he can see the pleased look on her face, the air of softness clinging to her like light.

Maybe, Steve thinks, there's virtue in directness.

* * *

The walk back to her tent is quiet.

He can feel the sharp eyes of his fellow soldiers, watching curiously as the two of them pass other tents - gossip spreads faster than real news does in this camp, and Peggy Carter's romantic life is a popular, though sometimes crass, topic - but she doesn't seem perturbed.

She stretches up on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you for lunch, Steve."

"My pleasure."

She walks back to her desk, leaving Steve standing outside, smiling at her like a fool, wondering if he's feeling the effects of the serum right now, or if it's normal for a man's heart to beat quite this fast.


End file.
